


Impromptu Vigil for the Dead Scooby Mom

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: The destruction of Sunnydale was the end of an era, but it was also the end of Jenny Calendar.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roca/gifts).



The day that Sunnydale became a crater in the middle of southern California, Rupert Giles kissed his wife for the last time. It was a kiss that he’d remember for the rest of his life—the casual familiarity mingled with the quiet panic that this might be the last time they saw each other alive. The strange, contrasting emotions of love and fear had always characterized his relationship with Jenny. He’d always, always been desperately afraid of losing her, even if over the years he’d come to terms with the fact that with the lives they lived, neither of them would really live that long. Not by normal standards.

Giles was thinking about that kiss as he exited the bus and Anya ran up to him, breathless.

“Giles,” she said. Her voice was shaking as she pressed Jenny’s bloodstained leather jacket into his hand. Giles reeled. “Giles, I’m so sorry.”

There was a tear through the fabric, as though the jacket had been slashed through one shoulder. His Jenny had bled out in the hallway of Sunnydale High.

* * *

 

Giles sat down on the edge of the crater. It was a strange, quiet kind of grief to feel, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the poetic nature of the moment. In a single day, the woman he loved and the town he’d found her in had both been destroyed, leaving behind a gaping hole in the face of the earth.

“She always did say she’d go out with a bang,” he quipped when someone sat down next to him, and then he was pretty sure he started crying.

“Giles,” said Buffy, and squeezed his hand. She was crying too, albeit a little more quietly than he was. Anya must have told her.

Giles fixed his eyes on the crater and thought about the Bronze, the way Jenny had looked on the night they’d saved the world for the very first time. Her blue-and-black cardigan catching the light, her eyes sparkling with life and laughter. “She’d be happy,” he said, and sniffled. Quite undignified, really, but then his wife had just died, so he supposed he could make some allowances when it came to his usual restraint. “That we’re all alive. That we’re safe.”

Buffy rested her head against his shoulder. In a small voice, she said, “This is gonna sound stupid, but I always thought you guys would live way past me, you know? We’d leave Sunnydale, and you and Ms. Calendar would move to England and have a lame little apartment with lots of pictures of us, and we’d all fly out to your place for Christmas.” She swallowed hard. “She made really nice popcorn,” she said. “When she didn’t burn it. But I figured you’d be the one cooking Christmas dinner.”

“We’d bought a flat,” said Giles, and scrubbed roughly at his eyes. “We were thinking—after Sunnydale, we were considering moving to Los Angeles. To be close to Faith. Jenny didn’t want Faith to feel that we were too far away.”

“Oh, god,” said Buffy suddenly, eyes widening. “Giles—I don’t know if—anyone’s told Faith yet.”

She sounded reluctant to leave him and tell Faith, but equally reluctant to stay and let Faith figure it out on her own. Giles understood. “I think it should be you,” he said, and smiled a little weakly. “She’ll need comfort from someone, and she loves you very much.”

“She loves you too, Giles,” said Buffy carefully. “And Ms. Calendar loved you both a lot. This might—I know it’s still this huge, big, awful thing that happened, and I know you’re hurting, but I think you should be the one to tell Faith.”

Giles thought about this, and nodded quietly, pulling himself up from his spot next to the crater. It took effort to tear his eyes away from the vast emptiness of it. He kept on wondering if there was anything of Jenny left in the rubble, and he hated thinking like that, so he fixed his gaze on Faith instead as he walked away from all that was left of Sunnydale.

She was standing by the school bus when he came up to her, and from the tenseness in the way she stood, Giles knew she knew.

“Anya told me,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Giles.

Faith sniffled. Her eyes were wet. “Anya said Jen saved her life,” she said. “She said that that blade was coming down straight for her and Jen just—darted in front, so fast. Anya couldn’t even stop her.”

Giles felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. He hadn’t known that.

“She didn’t have a death wish.” Faith was crying. Giles didn’t think he had _ever_ seen Faith cry, and Faith had been living with him and Jenny for nearly four years. “I know Jen. She thought she could do it. She thought she could save Anya and stay safe.” She punched the side of the school bus, leaving a dent. “ _Stupid!_ ” she shouted at no one in particular. Or maybe at Jenny, who wasn’t there to hear it, and wouldn’t ever be there to hear anything Faith said.

Giles knew his wife. He knew that if she was watching, there would be a worried frown on her face and she’d be reaching out to place a hand on Faith’s shoulder. Faith seemed to know this too, because now she was sobbing too hard to say anything at all.

He thought about what Jenny would want him to do, and then he walked over to Faith, giving her an awkward, uncertain hug. Faith stopped crying immediately, pulling away. She was shaking, now, but Giles could see in her eyes that it was from anger.

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy,” she said.

“She was my wife,” said Giles. It was half reminder and half reprimand. “Don’t assume I don’t understand how much you love her.”

“Loved,” said Faith. “She’s dead. Can’t love a dead person.”

“Did you stop loving Buffy when she died?” Giles asked quietly.

A sudden, hungry eagerness entered Faith’s eyes, and Giles instantly regretted his statement. “We’ll bring her back,” she said. “We’ll bring her back. You know Jen, you know she didn’t want to die, we just—we have to find the body, or, or do the right ritual or some shit like that, and we’ll bring her back—”

Giles looked down, one hand moving to the rose quartz necklace around his neck. “She wouldn’t want that,” he said quietly. “You know that, Faith.”

Faith stared at him. For a moment, Giles saw that angry, bitter teenage girl who had been so willing and eager to hurt in order to forget. But then a quiet, sad resignation came over her. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Buffy hurried up to both of them. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around Faith, kissing her comfortingly. Giles trained his eyes downward. “Hey,” he heard Buffy say to Faith. “Babe. You wanna go watch Xander throw things into the crater?”

“What’s he throwing?” Faith asked, still sounding a little wobbly and sad.

“Old school bus junk,” said Buffy with a plastic kind of cheeriness. “He’s pretty upset about Ms. Calendar. He’s taking it out on the crater.”

Faith sniffled. “Jen says you shouldn’t waste your resources,” she said vaguely. “Don’t throw junk away, even if it takes up space.”

Giles thought about their untidy bedroom at home, stacks of books piled high on their dresser, and realized with a pang that that was gone too. Jenny’s clothes, her brand new laptop that she’d been so proud of, the yellow floppy disk she’d kept by her bedside table all those years. Small, wonderful things, just like his wife, and all of them were gone.

Buffy was leading Faith back towards the crater, where Giles could see Xander hurling a spare tire down into the depths of what had once been Sunnydale. “Don’t do that,” he called, but the words came out quiet and tired, and no one heard them but him.

He took the rose quartz necklace out from his pocket. He’d kept it there ever since their final reconciliation. _Third time’s the charm,_ Jenny had liked to say with a bright, playful smile. _This time, we’ll forgive each other, and it’ll stick._

The necklace caught the sunlight. Giles remembered the way Jenny’s hair had done the same.

Willow was crying uncontrollably on the steps of the school bus. Tara had her arms around her and was murmuring something soothing. Dawn had gone over to Xander and they were sitting together on the edge of the crater, and Faith and Buffy were kissing quietly by the side of the highway.

For the first time in six years, Giles felt alone. It was a familiar feeling, and it felt like he’d slid back into those early days in Sunnydale, where he had his books and his calling and nothing else. This time, though, he had memories of something better, and it twisted the loneliness. Magnified it.

Giles realized that he’d been gripping the rose quartz necklace tightly enough to break the skin. A few drops of blood hit the pavement.

He wondered if she’d died afraid. He wished he’d been there. At the same time, he was glad he hadn’t been, because he knew he would have stayed with her as Sunnydale exploded around them.

Maybe he should have.

“Hey.” Faith tapped him on the shoulder. Her face was still a little blotchy, but her hand was in Buffy’s, and she looked at least a little more comforted by this. “We’re gonna drive ‘till we find a motel. You in?”

Giles nodded vaguely. What else could he do?

* * *

He spent the next few hours thinking about what Jenny would say about the crater. Her head would be resting on his shoulder, her hand playing with the lapel of his jacket. _Well, England, we really left our mark on Sunnydale, didn’t we,_ she’d say, and then she’d tilt her head up and close her eyes ever so slightly and they’d kiss. She’d be the one to pull away, resting her forehead against his in that way she did on occasion, and she’d say _you know, sometimes I can’t believe we made it this far,_ and Giles would say _neither can I, but I count my blessings,_ and they’d kiss again and again until someone told them they were being disgusting and it was time to go. And Willow wouldn’t still be crying into Tara’s shoulder in the back of the bus, and Faith wouldn’t be quiet and pensive and fingering the edges of an old photo of her and Jenny (Giles hadn’t known Faith had kept it; it was a snapshot taken at senior prom, Faith beaming at the camera and Jenny giving Faith a proud, loving look), and everyone would be happy right now as they drove to a motel and Jenny and Anya made jokes about post-apocalyptic sex.

A happy ending. After all they’d been through, they couldn’t get that. The destruction of Sunnydale was the end of an era, but it was also the end of Jenny Calendar.

“I hate this,” said Anya to no one in particular. “I hate it. It’s dismal, and sad, and everyone’s sad because Jenny was stupid enough to sacrifice herself for me.”

“Ahn,” said Xander. There was a tiredness to the way he said her name.

“No!” Anya’s eyes were glittering with tears. “She was! She was stupid! If she’d let me die, Faith wouldn’t be sad, and Giles wouldn’t have lost his soulmate—”

“The concept of a soulmate is antiquated nonsense,” said Giles absently.

“Whatever,” said Anya. “I’d be dead, and Jenny would be okay—”

“Don’t,” said Tara. There was a quiet steel to her voice. “Don’t make us make that choice. Not now, Anya.”

Willow was crying too hard to talk. Giles had the distinct feeling that this was why Tara was so angry.

“I’m _right,_ ” said Anya with conviction.

“Fuck you,” said Faith, tucking the photo back into her pocket and standing up, heedless of the fact that the bus was still moving. “Fuck you. You know what? Fine. You’re right. I’d sell you over in two seconds if it would get Jen back. But you don’t get to cheapen what she did for you by complaining about the fact that you’re alive.”

“Faith,” said Xander sharply.

“Jen’s dead,” said Faith, her voice almost a shout, “and you’re calling her stupid for _caring,_ when that’s what made her so much _better_ than you—”

“Faith,” said Buffy, very quietly.

Faith bit her lip and sat down, turning her face into Buffy’s shoulder without a word. Tears were streaming down Anya’s face as she looked down at her hands.

Giles thought about other things Jenny might say about the crater. _Careful, don’t want to fall into Sunnydale,_ she’d say, pulling him playfully back from the edge.

* * *

At the motel, when Giles woke up in the middle of the night, he found himself stretching to pull Jenny into his arms. His hand hit the headboard.

* * *

Faith showed up early in the morning, coming into Giles’s motel room without a word and sitting down on his bed with a bag from a nearby bakery. “Breakfast,” she said. “You know, you should really lock the door.”

Giles rolled over onto his side. “Privacy violation,” he said blearily.

“Jen always said that I was welcome in her home,” said Faith. “And you technically count as part of her home.”

“Fine,” said Giles. “Stay. But I am not eating breakfast at this hour.”

“It’s seven in the morning,” said Faith.

“My wife is dead,” said Giles, and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

He heard the sounds of movement, and then the sound of Faith switching the television on and sitting back down on the bed. He could hear her eating her pastry even over the quiet drone of the TV. “Gilmore Girls is on,” she said through a bite of her scone. “Not much else.”

“I’m sleeping,” said Giles.

“You said that when we got back from senior prom,” said Faith, “and Jen said that she could talk to you while you slept, and you said ‘fine’ and then you fell asleep when she was in the middle of talking about that shark movie she saw on cable. You’re fine.”

Giles shifted to look at Faith. She was staring at the television screen, flipping through channels without much interest. “How are you so calm?” he inquired, honestly curious. “You were—”

“Wigging out?” said Faith in a loving imitation of Buffy. She shrugged. “I love Jen,” she said. “A lot. And Buffy and I talked some stuff over last night, and I don’t think I want to stop loving Jen just because she’s not here anymore. I don’t think _she’s_ stopped loving _me,_ which is weird, because she’s dead,” and here a small smile began on her face, “but if anyone would keep caring even when they’re dead, it’s Jen.”

“Not much stops Jenny,” said Giles, and smiled slightly, sitting up in bed. Faith handed him his glasses. “Thank you. Is that one chocolate chip?”

“Remember when we all hit up that scone shop over the summer, and you got all snobby about how chocolate chip scones aren’t real scones?” Faith asked, and handed him the scone. “Jen would be so smug right now.”

* * *

Buffy came in when Faith and Giles were halfway done with breakfast, sandwiching herself between them with a kiss for Faith and a hug for Giles. She told them both a funny story about the time she and Jenny had hidden in a broom closet from a sewer demon and played rock-paper-scissors for an hour and a half, and then she started adding her commentary to the game show on TV. Giles half-listened; he was mostly focused on the playful, cheerful cadence of Buffy’s voice. It made him feel a little better—Buffy was alive, and he was incredibly grateful he still had that.

Willow and Tara came in too, followed by Xander and (eventually) a subdued, somber Anya, at which point Faith bit her lip and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” said Anya. She sat down in front of the bed, eyes on the TV. “I shouldn’t have been so angry. I just—I don’t like that it was her.”

Willow, who seemed to have at least stopped crying, sat down next to Anya. “I know,” she said softly. “I don’t like it either.”

“We should have a vigil,” Xander suggested. “Or candles, or—or something.”

“We could have one right now,” said Buffy.

All eyes turned to her. “Now?” Willow repeated a little dubiously.

“Why not?” Buffy was smiling, but it didn’t erase the sadness from her eyes. “We can’t really have a real funeral when we don’t have a body or the cause of death or something, and there’s no reason to wait to remember Ms. Calendar.”

“We’re in a motel room!” Willow objected.

But Giles remembered the night Jenny had turned to him in the middle of the living room, wearing sweats and a Sunnydale High t-shirt, and said _hey, honey, let’s get married,_ and he’d stammered that was she _sure,_ because this really wasn’t the proper way to propose, nor the right setting. She’d smiled, dark eyes soft with affection, and kissed him, and said—

“This isn’t something we need the right setting for,” Giles said softly. “It’s out of love.”

There was a silence in the room. Giles hadn’t realized anyone would hear him.

“Yeah,” said Faith, and gave him a small, almost playful smile. “Giles is right.” She got up off the bed, heading over to the front of the room and picking up the TV remote, holding it up like a microphone. “Hey,” she said. “My name’s Faith Lehane, first speaker at the Impromptu Vigil for the Dead Scooby Mom. Moms are generally really shitty, but Jen was a good one, and—” She bit her lip, looking down. “There are a lot of things,” she said finally, “that I never needed to tell her. She always just knew. I hope that holds true to some of the stuff I wish I could say to her right now. Love you, Jen.”

Giles felt himself smiling. Faith caught this and lightly tossed the remote to him. He blinked, then fumbled for words. “I—I—” He breathed out, thinking of calming things. The way Jenny smiled in the morning when he kissed her awake. The way they’d kissed that last time he saw her alive, reassuring and anxious in the same moment. “I stammered,” he said, “when I was first falling in love with Jenny, and over the course of seven years, she became the reason I could put aside my nervousness every morning. She was giving, and loving, and one of the strongest people I have ever met.”

He smiled. He missed her—of course he would—but he was also so fiercely proud. She’d died a hero. She’d died loved, and she’d died for someone she cared about. He knew that wherever she was, she would be at peace, and that was enough to at least dull the ache of missing. “No eulogy from me is good enough,” he said, eyes bright and wet. “But I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”


End file.
